Smith’s observations about the family, about race, gender, class, about the tiny thoughts that linger on every small action, are acutely clever. Kiki’s character I especially loved, and with all of them, even those less fleshed out, Smith explored a facet of this society and the very specific effects of them. I wish this story had hinged more on a singular theme, as some of these observations, whilst brilliant, only opened other potential narratives that were never fulfilled, leaving it a little less like a narrative and more like a collection.

Kiki had been quite content for the best part of an hour, just like this, watching the pitchy wind bully the last leaves to the ground - now here was her daughter, incredulous. The older we get, the more our kids seem to want us to walk in a very straight line with our arms pinned to our sides, our faces cast with the neutral expression of mannequins, not looking to the left, not looking to the right, and not - please not - waiting for the winter. They must find it comforting.